


when the moon and the sun first eclipsed

by orphan_account



Series: path of totality [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodbending (Avatar), Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Episode: s03e03 The Painted Lady, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, POV Alternating, Platonic Soulmates, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "And though they may not yet know it, the Spirit and the Bloodwitch continue to look for one another. In the shifting of the water, in the rustle of the trees, in the cloak of the night. Morning comes, and they tuck their vigilante personas away and with them, as they would a dirty set of clothes.But even with the rising moon or the setting sun, the memories remain. And when the time comes for the Spirit and the Bloodwitch to meet under the sun, it will be those very memories that will determine what happens next.". . .They day they first officially meet begins like any other.
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Katara
Series: path of totality [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642633
Kudos: 33





	when the moon and the sun first eclipsed

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So first off! The Avatar wiki is like really impressive, they've got whole-ass pages dedicated to cuisine and fashion and religion, like holy fuck, wookieepedia, take a step back. I tried to keep this as close to the source material (as far culture goes, canon is really flimsy here), so if you see anything that makes you raise an eyebrow, point it out and I'd be glad to go back and fix it. Same goes for Toph's blindness, if there's anything problematic with the portrayal, I'm always open to criticism so feel free to let me know.  
> Also! I am really happy to be posting this because lol it's probably gone be a good minute before I get to posting that longfic. And the reaction so far for the first two stories was amazing. This isn't my usual fandom, so I wasn't sure what to expect, but every kudo and bookmark and hit has just made my day, it's great.

He’s never been one for parties.

Too much noise, too much alcohol, too many opportunities to make a mistake. He remembers his first time attending a party, back when he was eight years old and still thought being a part of his father’s life was a good thing. He’d been so nervous and yet so eager, absolutely determined to prove that he, too, deserved to stand amongst his family at these events.

If only he’d known how boring, how  _ exhausting _ they could be. It’s one of the few things he and Uncle Iroh agree upon. His father and Azula, they seem to get a kick out of the performing. Neither quite seems to actually like the food or the entertainment or even the people, but it’s the performing that truly makes the night.

“Commander Zhao”, Zuko greets coolly as the man passes him by, several drunken people trailing like lovesick puppies behind him.

Zhao just raises his glass at him, smirking as his crowd of groupies continues after him. “Prince Zuko”, he returns, sharply enunciating the title. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” His lips peel back into a sneer. “Where’s your sister?”

“Busy”, Zuko simply says, turning around and retreating towards the back of the hall without another word. “As am I.”

He joins a somber-looking woman in Earth Kingdom colors by the appetizer-table, piling three crab puffs into a pyramid onto his plate. The woman casts him a single look, her nose turning up before she averts her attention back to the table full of snacks before them. 

Zuko pushes a crab puff into his mouth, shifting as he reaches for a piece of fried dough. He doesn’t recognize this woman, but he has no doubt that she recognizes him. It might’ve been his uncle that led the first siege upon this Kingdom, and it might’ve been his sister that had returned years later to complete it, and it might’ve been his father that’s continued spreading the influence of the Fire Nation but...well…

As his father puts it, he has a recognizable face.

And as Azula had said it, casting an annoyed glance in their father’s direction, they’re something of a celebrity family. Regardless of what he himself does and doesn’t know, he will never be able to travel without someone placing his face as that of the “esteemed” Prince of the Fire Nation. And with today being the anniversary of the fall of Ba Sing Se? And with most Earth Kingdom representatives here out of fear of unattending than actual want? And with Zuko’s renowned reputation as the son Firelord Ozai never wanted?

Suffice it to say, he understands the hostility. People would never treat Azula or even his uncle with the same air as they do Zuko. Azula would have a person hanged for so much a scoff, and his uncle generally greets antagonism with open arms, which shuts down most attempts fairly quickly. So that just leaves Zuko, who, at the most, would challenge someone to a fight instead of sending them to their death or talking them unconscious about the process of the evergreen branching off into tea and coffee.

Zuko looks at the woman out of the corner of his eye.

She chews on her fried dough and raises an eyebrow. “Your highness”, the woman greets.

He gives her a strained smile and replies, “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name”.   
The woman continues nipping at her dough. “Suki. I figured you wouldn’t.”   
Zuko nods. “Great party”, he says, wincing the moment the words have left his mouth. It’s a dumb thing to say. Most Earth Kingdomers are visibly distraught at having to be here, and the Fire Natives are either delighted by this fact, drunk off their ass and oblivious to the tension, or handling it about as well as Zuko.

Suki doesn’t mention this. She just sits her plate down on the table, levels him with a cool look, then states, “I wouldn’t have noticed. I’m here for business.”   
“Right.” He taps his fingers against his plate, then asks, “And what business would that be?”

“The kind concerning the Earth Kingdom.” Zuko stares at her, wondering why her face seems so familiar. But Suki just stalks off, leaving him to his thoughts.

Later, he finds himself seated at a table with his family. As he’s eating, he can’t help but overhear the mention of a coastal bazaar being torn down to commemorate the construction of a new Fire Nation School.

“After all”, the minister says from where he sits opposite the royal family. “How else would we set about incorporating our ways into Earth Kingdom society? It’s better to start with the youth than expecting to fully reach those already of age.”   
“Sound thinking, minister”, his father congratulates with a low laugh. He raises a glass, and, around the table, people follow in his stead. Zuko smiles, congratulating the minister in a similar vein as he feels a churning begin to stir in his stomach.

_ Just a few more hours _ , he thinks, allowing his gaze to drift to where the window lies open beside him. Just a few more and he’ll be free of this place, able to take a look at this new school without wandering, scrutinous eyes.

“Er, Prince Zuko”, the minister whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember says. Zuko looks from his bowl of ramen, an eyebrow raised in silent question. The man flusters, clears his throat, then says, “Your sister was telling me earlier that you’re a fan of martial arts”.

“Obviously”, Azula drawls, looking like she couldn’t be more bored if she tried. But there’s a gleam within her eye, one which screams of mischief. It upsets his already churning stomach, prompting Zuko to gently push his ramen away as he turns away from her to face the minister in question. 

“It’s custom within the family”, Zuko defends weakly. “It would be unwise to be incapable of protecting myself, particularly in today’s…” He keeps his eyes on the minister, even as his father’s emotionless eyes demand his attention just beyond his periphery. “Political climate.”

“Well, if you ever plan on visiting again”, the minister pronounces happily, seemingly unaware of the growing tension around the table. “We were also considering building a martial arts center, just a little ways down the road.”   
Zuko gives a wan smile in return. “That sounds wonderful. I’d be happy to visit.” He glances out the window once more, his foot tapping incessantly underneath the table as the conversation drones on and on. 

Off-handedly, he can’t help but note that it is a full moon tonight. And for a moment, he allows himself to consider crossing paths with her once more before immediately denouncing the idea. What are the odds that she’s followed him all the way here? Because while it’s true that they’ve had their fair share of run-ins over the past three years, they haven’t had enough contact to have developed a working relationship like many other vigilantes have. Off the top of his head, he can think of the Kiyoshi Warriors, the Earth Rumble VI Traveling Expedition, the Sons of Jeong Jeong, and the Faces of Yue. They’re rather rare as far as vigilantes go, and, somehow, he doubts the Painted Lady’s the type to work well with others. She’s a little bit too much of a people-person if you ask him.

Dinner passes quickly, a fact which Zuko is infinitely grateful for. On the right day, these kinds of things can last well into the early hours of the morning, with his father and sister whole-heartedly egging on their hosts. Tonight, people start parting well before one o’clock, and Zuko takes his cue not even an hour later, rising from his seat with a rueful smile. He bids goodbye to everyone, his foot halfway out the door when the sister of the former Earth King suddenly calls out to him. 

He grits his teeth, turning back around with an artificial smile on his face. “Yes, your highness-”, he cuts himself off at the sharp look his father gives him, correcting himself with, “Ma’am?”   
The woman inhales softly, keeping her eyes steadily trained on him as she asks, “Leaving so soon?” She’s one of the few sober, uncomfortable faces he’s seen tonight. A few hours earlier, he’d actually stuck close to her, pleased to be around someone aware of and discomforted by the situation. And though he’d appreciated her presence, right now, he needs to leave. He’s sure that if she had the means to leave, she’d do so, too.

“I just wanted to take a walk”, he assures her with a light smile. “See what’ll be housing the future education of Fire Nation histories and customs.”

The woman gives a curt nod at the same time that her brother, the once king, excuses himself in the direction of the wine table. Zuko winces. That hadn’t come out at all how he’d intended. But it doesn’t matter what he says or how he says it. The reality is that the upcoming generation of this town and towns all over the Earth Kingdom will have only the minds of those before them to tell them of their heritage. As far as everyone’s concerned, the Earth Kingdom is now merely another extension of the Fire Nation.

“I’ll be back by morning”, he mutters, and Uncle Iroh hums low in his throat.

“Be careful, Prince Zuko.” He pours himself and his brother, who’s busy berating the chef, two cups of tea. His tone is light, casual, but there’s something hidden in his words, something that would go over the heads of anyone who doesn’t know him well enough to truly pay attention to him. Iroh looks up from his kettle, his eyes briefly meeting Zuko’s before he averts them as he reaches for another dumpling. “It would appear our close friend the Blue Spirit has traveled with us. There’ve been reports of his presence ever since our arrival. You’d be wise to be on your guard.”

Ozai waves his brother off with a flick of the hand, briefly pausing in his insulting of the chef. “He’s a clown in a mask”, he dismisses, propping in his chin up with his hand. “If he were going to harm us, he would have done so by now. And if he were foolish enough to come after the offspring of the esteemed firelord, he’s more foolish than his appearance would give him credit for.” And with that, he turns his attention back to the chef, but not before giving Zuko one long, piercing look.

“We don’t have to worry about the Blue Spirit”, Zuko mutters, crossing his arms over his chest in hopes of calming his somersaulting heart.

Iroh just stares at his dumpling and softly says, “I know”.

At that, he pauses, only to startle moments later when Azula suddenly calls out, “Zuzu!” He looks up, finding her also preoccupied with her bowl of soup. “Don’t stray too far”, she advises him lightly. “We wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. You know how finacle law enforcement can be about outsider influences in this day and age.”

Zuko looks over his family, abrupt apprehension coursing through his mind, before waving cordially and turning to leave. 

It’s easy enough, ducking inside of a building under construction and slipping into his Blue Spirit persona. The tricky part is slipping back out and remaining unseen.

_ They don't know anything _ , Zuko assures himself, gritting his teeth as he waits for a carriage to pass by.  _ Except maybe Iroh.  _

If he doesn’t outright know, then he’s begun to piece it together. Judging by that conversation, he’s probably just been convinced.

Zuko grunts, darting across the street, keeping his eyes open for the bazaar.

_ And father probably suspects something.  _ He probably thinks Zuko doesn’t have the guts to actively go out of his way and screw with the Fire Nation, but he isn’t an idiot. Distracted, yes, but not to the point that he doesn’t notice when those of his inner circle have a sudden change in behavior. His mother could attest to that.

Zuko’s eyes widen at the sight of the dimly lit strip of shops, moving like a shadow as he draws nearer.  _ And Azula… _

_ Azula definitely knows. _

Sure enough, there are banners up, advertising a new school meant to “foster in a new wave of peace and camaraderie between Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom alike”. Zuko narrows his eyes, unsheathing his broadswords as he rolls underneath the NO CIVILIAN ADMITTANCE board. He slices through the banners as he goes, ever mindful of wandering eyes. His own find themselves frequently flicking to the moon, thinking, once more, of the Painted Lady-turned-bloodwitch.

Whatever should happen, he’s just glad to have finally escaped his family.

. . .

She sleeps during the day, travels in the afternoon, and lives in the night.

Even those that don’t know her identity are wary of being in her path, entire crowds parting in her wake. It’s been this way ever since Hama passed, like even though she isn’t wearing the hat and the blood red clothes, the world’s begun to see her as an extension of the part of herself that only exists in the light of night.

“Hey, Stiff Tits.”

Katara looks up from the yellow-accented dress she’s dragging against a washboard, glaring at Toph. 

“Fire Nation soldiers”, Toph says underneath her breath, hands folded pristinely in her lap, posture the picture of perfection. Katara just snorts. It’s astounding how quickly she falls into performance, slipping a personality at total opposition to her own like she would a pair of shorts.

“We can handle them”, Katara assures her after looking over the two soldiers. As it stands, they’re not close enough for her to get a read on the internal workings on their body, just a general picture of “fairly healthy”. Between her and Toph, two of anything has never been a problem.

“I’m sure we could”, Toph mutters, rolling her eyes. “But this is a stealth operation, remember? If the warden finds out we’re in the area, she’s gonna tighten security.”

Katara just breathes, focusing on Toph’s circadian rhythms and delighted, as she always is, in the knowledge that Toph is likely doing the same. When they were younger, she hadn’t realized just how comforting, how soothing looking into another person could be. Now, she doesn’t know how Toph doesn’t get lost in it.

“They don’t have any reason to suspect us”, Katara eventually says but noting that the soldiers haven’t yielded in their path. 

“You’ve got the charisma of an enraged spirit”, Toph retorts. “That’s reason enough.”   
Katara just scowls. Admittedly, ever since she’s undertaken bloodbending, people have been...wary of her. But she hadn’t thought it potent enough to warrant the attention of soldiers. She’ll have to keep that in mind, especially if they’re going to continue through Fire Nation-occupied regions.

“Ma’am”, one of the guards greets, nodding at Katara.

“Gentlemen”, Toph counters, voice polite but teetering on the edge of teasing. Katara just barely withholds another snort, remaining quiet as Toph speaks for them both. “Is something wrong?”

“Er, we’ve been getting reports of disturbances”, one of the men, years younger than the other, stutters, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh?”, Toph’s question is posed innocently, but Katara recognizes it as a jab directed at her, a silent “I told you so” echoing throughout the single syllable. Katara just continues tending to their laundry as Toph gives a light chuckle, so thoroughly distinct from her usual chortle that it almost makes Katara pause where she’s draping an undershirt over their clothesline. “Well, that sounds truly troublesome.”

“It is”, the oldest says stiffly. “The locals are unnerved by your presence. We’re gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“How unfortunate”, Toph drawls, letting disappointment color her tone as she lifts a hand to stroke her chin. “And we were so excited to visit. We’ve been talking for ages of taking a vacation, but, you know, we never had the money.”

This time, Katara doesn’t withhold rolling her eyes. 

“Well, ma’am”, the younger of the two says. “You, of course, would be eligible to stay if your…” He flicks his gaze to Katara, eyes narrowing ever so slightly before returning to Toph. “‘Friend’ was willing to part with you.” 

For the first time since their arrival, Katara speaks. She sits aside the bin of clothes she’s been tending to, crossing her arms over her chest, and coolly states, “I’m afraid that’s out of the question”. When the soldiers refrain from moving, Katara glowers, taking a moment to stare deep into them and noting, amusedly, that the youngest has the beginnings of a cardiovascular disease. She allows her lips to twitch into a smirk and breezily wonders, “What kind of a friend would that make me, if I just called our long-awaited vacation just because our neighbors are a little antsy?”

The oldest presses his lips together and lets out a loud breath through his nose. “Ma’am-”

“We’re not leaving”, Katara says, then turns her attention back to the washboard.

Toph just grins, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress before saying, “Well, you heard the lady”.

The oldest man sighs, taking a step towards Katara. “Listen”, he begins, sounding exasperated. “You’re creeping the fuck out of the locals. Don’t make it worse for your friend. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Oh, Katara.” Toph shakes her head, features straining with apparent pain as she presses a hand to her heart. “M-Maybe you should listen to him. After all, I’m-I’m obviously innocent in all of this.” 

_ Tui, you’re just the worst.  _ “We already paid the innkeeper for the week”, Katara informs the soldiers, ignoring the beat her heart skips. “We’re not going anywhere.” When the youngest soldier opens his mouth to say something, Katara lifts a hand, eyeing him coolly as she says, “I won’t repeat myself”.

“We’ll keep to ourselves”, Toph says, laying a hand over Katara’s. Her own voice has lost its humor, and her eyes, once bright and crinkled with amusement, have gone narrow. If not for the need for discretion, Katara would think she was preparing for a battle. 

Oddly enough, Toph’s smile remains in place, which, really, is creepier than any “raging spirit charisma” Katara has got going on. “If you don’t mind”, Toph proclaims, standing and holding out a hand. Katara takes hold of it, walking beside her back to their room. 

“‘Obviously innocent in all of this’?”, Katara mimics as Toph slams the door shut behind them, cracks spidering throughout the wall as it settles into its frame.

“Those assholes had, like, a bajillion different biases running through them”, Toph sighs, waving a hand dismissively. “Trust me, it completely went over their heads.” 

“Yeah, well.” She sits their bin of clothes down on the floor and makes her way to the back room. “You could stand to be more discreet.” 

Toph doesn’t say anything. Katara watches her enter the bathroom, listening, breathing softly as the sound of running water meets her ears. Her fingers twitch, and her eyes flutter shut. She runs a finger over her pulse, walks to the door, and knocks softly. 

“Occupied”, Toph calls out, annoyedly.

Katara leans her head against the door. She taps her fingers against the wood, noting the grooves and curves, the lifelessness of it, the faintest hint of a water that’s been murdered. She breathes in deep, then murmurs, “I know how much the acting gets to you”. 

It’s not what she means to say: that she’s sorry the world immediately writes her off, pushes her out of its peripheral the moment they catch a glance of her eyes. She doubts there are enough words in the world to convey just what she means, but even if there were, she’d tried before, and it’s only when Toph’s dead on her feet from exhaustion that she’s willing to talk about it. 

“Yeah, well”, Toph’s voice comes muffled from the other side of the door. “I’ve been doing it for years so.”

“I’m just saying.” Katara opens her eyes and stares down at her feet. “And you know...once we get these last recruits, we won’t have to hide anymore.” She feels the ache in the wood, feels it reaching out to her like a wounded friend, and takes in a sharp breath. “And you won’t have to pretend anymore.” 

“Maybe.” There’s the sound of a faucet turning, followed by water sloshing. Once, when Katara had told Toph about her keen sense to water, Toph had snorted and called her a creeper. They’d gotten into a pretty heated argument about it, with Katara retorting about Toph’s seismic sense and Toph arguing that it was different. 

But afterwards, Toph hadn’t changed her habits. On the contrary, most days, she seems to go out of her way to stomp in rain puddles and nearly flood her bath; in general, just being as obnoxious around water as she possibly can. It’s irritating, only because Katara knows Toph wants it to irritate her.

But it’s comforting. To have someone know her well enough to know those kinds of things would even bother her. After so long without having anyone who understood...without Hama-

“Hey”, Toph suddenly says, and Katara sits up, skin thrumming as the tub begins to drain of its water. She can hear Toph approaching the door, can feel the sloshing off the blood in her body as she places a hand on the doorknob, as if she’s developed a sort of psychic connection with Toph. She hasn’t, but she still sees Toph, in the way that she always sees her, in the way that Toph always sees Katara. “You know if this works.” Toph takes a breath, then concludes, “We’re gonna have to work with other people.”

Katara turns around, sliding to the floor with her back pressed to the door. She can think of a few places this conversation could go, and she doesn’t like any of them. “I know.” 

“You’re gonna have to ease up on the control-freakiness. Especially not now that you’re…” Katara sighs, blowing her bangs out of her face.

It’d been over a year ago. With her reputation known throughout the remaining three states, Toph had to’ve been suspicious when they agreed to travel together again. But it was only on that day in the market, when Katara got into an argument with a trader that they actually talked about it.

The bazaar had been busy, so only Toph was able to see how the woman’s movements suddenly stilled, turning jerky and robotic, not unlike that of a puppet. 

It had only been for a moment, and the woman, despite her obvious fear, had dropped the matter, no doubt thinking she’d imagined the whole thing. Toph wasn’t as easily dissuaded. 

She hadn’t been mad. Just confused, about as much as Katara had been.

“I’m better at controlling it now”, she says, craning her head back towards the door.

Things have been...hard since Hama’s passing. Harder than she’d like to admit. She’d known going into her training that bloodbending would change her, and she’d accepted those changes, accepted them as she would a new technique. But with Hama gone, it’s like she’s back to square one, where just being around people, like living pools of water, makes her want to scream and dive beneath a glacier lake. 

For a few months, Katara had carried on, driven mad with grief, lashing out the moment the moon rose and hiding out in caves when it set. 

And then Toph showed up one day, took one look at her, and said they should ride together again. Initially, Katara had said no, but Toph...well, Toph’s about as stubborn as she is. And though it scares the shit out of her sometimes, she thinks it’s good for her, for the both of them. It keeps them grounded, in a world that would much rather surrender them to gravity.

“We can’t stay the night”, Toph says when she emerges from the bathroom moments later, dressed in just a robe. She crashes on a couch in the living room, kicking her feet up as she does so. “We’re drawing too much attention.”   
Katara nods. “It’s gotta be tonight”, she concurs, hovering in the doorway. “If we’re gonna get Haru and Yue out of there, we need to do it before anyone gets suspicious.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “The Blue Spirit’s already here. It’s a wonder they haven’t already.”

“Well, whatever happens”, Toph says with a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll make enough noise for us to sneak in and do our thing.”

She just rolls her eyes, starting towards the kitchen in pursuit of lunch. “Rest up”, she advises her as she sets about making seaweed noodles. “We head out in a few hours.”

. . .

The Blue Spirit weaves his way through the woods, a stumble to his step as his movements tug at the arrow wound in his stomach. The soldiers are closer now, close enough for him to catch a flicker of their faces beyond the trees. He grits his teeth as his feet give, sending him tumbling down a hill until he lands in a shallow pond.

“I see him! He’s this way”, a voice shouts, just shy of shrill.

The Spirit balls his hand into a fist, just barely quelling the rising fire within him. There’s a shuffle of leaves before a soldier jumps from a bush, her own fists poised to launch a stream of fire at him. Not even a second later, another soldier emerges, her grip on her sword loose and her stance awkward like only a novice’s is.

“You caught us on a good day”, the firebender laughs, lips quirked into a smile. “The Fire Lord’s in town. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to meet you.”

The Spirit remains quiet, and the two soldiers look at one another as more of their troop join them. The Spirit’s expression is frozen, forever the picture of hysterical comedy. No matter his opponent, it seems to only further enrage them, as if he’s eternally mocking their efforts. 

Behind him, there’s another shudder in the trees. The Spirit almost expects another soldier to make themselves known, but no one ever comes. Behind his mask, he raises an eyebrow, curious, mask tilting down to the water pooling around his ankles to where a reflection of the moon trembles around him.

At the same time that he’s made this realization, there is another Spirit, a kin of the moon, lithely navigating the treetops. She stares down at her surrounded brother, watching like a silent predator deciding upon whom to pounce. 

She’s come across him many a times. On more than one occasion, she’s found herself flooding forest floors with water to wash away his footprints or sending an “errant” wave of the sea against pursuing soldiers to provide him the time to escape. He’s a sloppy one, and his recklessness will likely be the downfall of another of their kind. 

Now, that being said, the Bloodwitch, once Painted Lady, finds herself intrigued by this creature, noting that he’s no more Spirit than herself. For a moment, she allows herself to wonder who hides behind the mask, watching and placing the exact moment when he notices her lurking amongst the trees. She smirks, resting contentedly against a branch as she continues to watch the scene develop beneath them. The witch will have to leave soon, make sure the Bandit has evaded capture with their friends, but for the time being, she’s content to just stand here and watch this transpire.

It’s only when the feel of blood pouring from an open wound greets her that the Lady leaps down from her perch, standing between the Spirit and the troop of soldiers. She looks over her shoulders, suddenly sober as she realizes that the wound is quite serious.

“Fuck”, one of the soldiers squeaks out. “There are two of them!”

“Not just any two”, another one snaps. “If the Admiral finds out we had the Blue Spirit and  _ her _ within our grasp and let them go, we’d never hear the end of it.”

The Spirit removes his arm from around his waist, casting a glance in the Lady’s direction. She looks up from her hat, soft yet stern brown eyes meeting his own. He’s known for quite a while that she sometimes watches him, same as he sometimes watches her, but it’s kind of embarrassing for this to be their first meeting. He can hold his own just fine. Tonight just...it just hadn’t been his night.

The battle is quick but fierce. Even wounded, the Spirit is a formidable opponent. When they’ve downed the last of the soldiers, he stands there, panting from blood-loss and moves to extend a hand to the Lady, who merely turns her nose up and flicks her wrist. His eyes widen, recognizing the gesture from horror stories of those who crossed her path. But nothing happens. Not to him at least. Behind him, a soldier cries out, and the Spirit turns around, watching, with a sort of detached awe, as blood seeps from her pores, spiralling into a circle before her as the soldier’s body collapses to the ground. 

The Spirit looks up from the soldier’s limp body, taking in the bloodwitch, whose eyes are wide and fevered in the way they only are on a full moon. Her hands are twitching at her sides, and her eyes are darting about the site, searching the bodies, as if eager to perform  _ that _ again. She seems...drunk on the power of whatever it is. Maybe that’s why, when one of the soldiers weakly pulls themselves up, a knife risen, she doesn’t notice it. 

But the Spirit does. He unsheathes his own sword, launching it into the soldier’s chest with a sickening slice. The witch just blinks, staring down at the fallen soldier with child-like eyes. She then turns her gaze back to the Spirit, noticing the stiff set in his soldiers, the slight tremble to his frame. That’s never been there before, but it isn’t exactly surprising. Whatever relationship that’s developed between them, it’s obviously been influenced by whatever preconceived conception he’d held about her. Now that he’s seen her as she truly is, she figures he’ll treat her the way everyone else does. 

“Wow”, the Spirit says, voice wavering with something she can’t decipher. Fear? Awe? Disgust? “That was…” Whatever he’d been about to say, the Lady doesn’t hear because she’s begun to move. The Spirit rushes after her, whisper-shouting, “Hey!” as he goes.

She pauses, turning so that her face is partially concealed by a tree. This time of year, the trees have only just begun to show their leaves, leaving her face covered partially in bare branches and partially with budding leaves. It must make for quite a sight because the Spirit just stares at her for a long moment before he quietly says, “You’re her...aren’t you?”

He’s heard the rumors. Hell, anyone not living under a rock has heard the rumors. From what he’s just seen, it’s clear that the ones from the Water Tribes are closer to the truth than just about anywhere else. Which would make sense. But they’re also, interestingly enough, more vicious in the Water Tribes.

He doesn’t quite know what to make of that. “I’m the Blue Spirit. But you, heh, probably already knew that.” At the silence he receives in reply, he takes a tentative step forward and asks, “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes clear like clouds parting from the moon, like she’s coming out from underneath whatever spell she’d fallen under. The Lady smiles, folding her hands in front of her. “You do a lot of talking for someone who’s supposed to be a silent spirit.” The Spirit’s heart begins to beat faster, and the Lady smiles. “Relax”, she says in a crooning voice, blinking sofly. “I’m not here to hurt you”. 

“But the rumors are true.” He takes another step forward, noting the apprehension now coloring the spirit’s features. “You waterbend people.”

There’s a moment where the Lady seems confused, her expression warring between smug, ashamed, and longing. In the end, it settles upon smug before a fog envelops her. The Spirit gapes, swiping a hand through the fog to find she’s disappeared. He doesn’t waste a moment, darting after her like an arrow from a sliver. It’s a bit difficult to manage in water, especially once it begins to deepen, but he doesn’t relent in his strides.

He winds up pausing, though, when he comes to a high bed of sand, on the other end of which stands a small group of soldiers. The Spirit is about to rush off in the opposite direction when the water beneath him suddenly swirls, pulling him underneath just in time. He blinks, stilling at the sight of the Painted Lady beside him.

Although, she’s not as Painted. The crimson marks upon her face are gone, leaving merely a woman in her wake. All the same, she moves as if she’s a part of the water herself, her body pulling and pushing with the current, as natural a sight as a school of fish swimming between ripples. The bloodwitch gives him a sheepish smile, then tilts her head back, and the Spirit does the same. 

The soldiers rush past them, and the Spirit can’t help but notice how silly they look from underneath the cloak of water. For a moment, he wonders if this is how the Lady always sees them, sees all other humans, but it’s in that moment that she moves, pulling herself through the water until she’s resurfaced. He mimics her movements, realizing, with a start, that he hadn’t been holding his breath. 

The Lady just smiles at him, seeming suddenly timid before lifting her hands out beside her. She closes her eyes, allowing her head to tilt a few degrees to the side as her breathing pitters out to almost nothing. While she stands still, her hands continue to move at the same pace as her breathing, moving backward and forward in a motion the Spirit faintly recognizes as that of a waterbender.

The Spirit cocks his head to the side and asks, “What are you doing?”

The witch closes her eyes, her chest rising and falling with each carefully-calculated breath she takes. “I’m looking for my partner”, she answers, her voice muffled as she moves her hands from right to left. “We do this thing.” She brings her hand up, drawing a vertical line as the other continues moving horizontally. “I feel water, she feels earth.” When she opens her eyes, they are a stark, wide-blown blue. “And we find each other.”

“Oh. Right.” He walks up beside her, seeing a sort of familiarity in the movement with the ones his uncle often does just before he lies down for bed. He looks at her, blinking softly behind his mask, and asks, “The Bandit?” He’s heard of her, has only crossed paths with her once twice. She is terrifying, which, if she’s partners with the bloodwitch, puts a lot of things into perspective. He couldn’t imagine a better pair. 

The Lady drops her hands to her sides and looks at him. “Uh huh”, she replies, sounding suspicious. 

“She’s human”, the Spirit says, as if that hadn’t already been obvious.

She just frowns and says, “She’s my friend”. 

He thinks back to when they’d been beneath water, how her makeup had come undone. Above water, without her usual mists and red, she looks like any other human. “Are you really a Spirit?” “Uh…” For the first time since he’s met her, the bloodwitch seems uncertain. “Well, I, are you?” 

Not knowing how to answer, the Spirit crosses his arms over his chest and says, a bit too casually, “I heard about the prison escape.” He raises his eyebrows. “That was you?” 

The Lady nods and begins walking. “And the school. That was you?” She feels his chest begin to swell with pride and narrows her eyes, her former mentor’s words echoing in her ears, her advice to never overestimate yourself. “It was a reckless siege”, she replies offhandedly. “Fire Nation projects in progress are always heavily-guarded. You’d know that if you bothered to do any research.”

The Spirit rears his head, pausing in his strides before hurrying to catch back up with her. “Well, what about you? Taking on a whole prison?” 

“I wasn’t alone”, she’s quick to retort, not sparing him so much as a glance. “And it wasn’t some split-second decision. This was in the works for months…” They come upon where the pond expands into the long-winding lake, and the bloodwitch pauses, taking a breath before turning to face him once more. “I admire your heart, but I’ve seen your work. You’re going to get someone killed if you aren’t careful.”

“I work alone”, the Spirit says coolly. “The only person in danger is me.” When the Lady offers no reply, he frowns, then asks, “Who did you break out of the prison?”

“...Old friends.” The Lady continues on, sinking until the water’s up to her chin. When at last she turns around, it’s to take her hat off and clench it close to her chest. “Why did you stop that school from being built?”

The Spirit stares at her a long before saying, “I was in the neighborhood”. Beyond them, he can hear the sound of soldiers’ voices. When he turns back to the lake, he half-expects the bloodwitch to have gone. But she’s still there, watching him curiously. She can’t see it, but his lips quirk into a smile as he asks, “Is this the part where you tell me to stop following you?” 

She just shrugs and says, “You were here first. I figure that’s your question”. She’s quiet for a moment more before saying, “I’d get that wound looked at if I was you”.

The Spirit nods, and with that, the Lady ducks her head beneath the water, leaving little more than ripples in his wake. 

He looks up at the moon and finds it shining brightly, as brilliant and luminous as it always is. He blinks, turns around, and sprints away, narrowly avoiding the soldiers yet again.

And though they may not yet know it, the Spirit and the Bloodwitch continue to look for one another. In the shifting of the water, in the rustle of the trees, in the cloak of the night. Morning comes, and they tuck their vigilante personas away and with them, as they would a dirty set of clothes.

But even with the rising moon or the setting sun, the memories remain. And when the time comes for the Spirit and the Bloodwitch to meet under the sun, it will be those very memories that will determine what happens next. 

**Author's Note:**

> some fun facts, for anyone wondering,  
> zuko recognizes katara and toph’s thing because Iroh does the same thing with his friends in the order of the white lotus  
> i like to think of the faces of yue as having designs similar to those of the force priestesses from star wars the clone wars, with each person depicting the moon at a different stage in the lunar cycle and the leader being a blue moon. the sons of jeong jeong have masks showing the sun at various points of the day. and the earth rumble VI traveling expedition said fuck coordinating but I like to imagine they’ve all got cool individual costumes that share an emblem that identifies them to one another  
> and in terms of characterization? everyone's just a little bit different cuz i feel like, throughout the course of the show, they saw some development that just wouldn't work if we're going by this timeline. that being said, i do plan to tighten them up a bit by the time i release the longfic  
> and that's about it! feedback's always welcome so feel free to let me know what you think! i'm gonna be pretty busy, so i can't say when that longfic's gonna come, but it's been fun exploring this au! thanks for reading!


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